by BJ Bourg
“If the contributor has ever been arrested,” Tracy had said about the fingerprints, “I’ll have a name within the hour.”
She had been brimming with confidence and I was hoping she was correct. However, I wasn’t in an optimistic mood.
I turned left onto Washington Avenue and parked along the street in front of Bad Loup Burgers. I had called Lindsey—our daytime dispatcher—and asked if she, Susan, or Regan wanted something to eat, but they’d all declined.
There were burger patties sizzling on the grill when I walked inside. The smell caused my stomach to grumble. I made my order and took a call from Tracy as I waited for the food to cook.
“Hey, Clint, how are you?” she asked in a cheerful voice.
“Please tell me you’ve got some good news.” As soon as the words left my mouth, a feeling of deja vu suddenly came over me. It was right then that I remembered I’d been standing in this very same restaurant the last time I’d asked the same question of her—and that case hadn’t turned out so well.
“It depends on how you look at it, I guess,” she said. “First, I ran the prints from the doorknobs through AFIS and didn’t get a hit on them, which means the contributors weren’t criminals.”
“Contributors?” I asked, emphasizing the plural.
“Yeah, they weren’t made by the same person.”
“Was either of them made by Carol Richardson?”
“Nope.”
I nodded thoughtfully. As far as I knew, Ty had never been arrested and fingerprinted, so it was possible one of the prints belonged to him. But what about the other one? Who could that be?
“What about the drug paraphernalia?” I asked.
“I think they’ll be putting your evidence in the fuming tank later today,” she said. “If they recover any prints, I’ll have them run through AFIS and I’ll compare them to Mrs. Richardson’s prints.”
I chuckled involuntarily. “Yeah, I doubt she’s the one smoking meth.”
“You never know,” she sang. “I’ve seen stranger things. Anyway, I’ll get back to you soon.”
I ended the call and glanced around the restaurant. There were a dozen or so people in the place. Most I knew, and some I didn’t. The folks I didn’t know were either separated into couples or they were families with young children. They all looked like they were on vacation. I couldn’t help but wonder if one of my suspects was in this very room. I was pretty sure one of the prints would come back to Ty, but the other could be an accomplice. What if the accomplice had talked him into robbing his mom? I dismissed the thought as quickly as it came to mind. There hadn’t been any evidence of someone rummaging through Carol’s things. No, something else was afoot with this case.
The waitress called my number and interrupted my thoughts. I retrieved the food and made my way out onto the quiet street. I stopped just outside the door—instinctively moving to one side—and enjoyed the cool stillness of the day for a few moments. Soon, it would be Mardi Gras and our town would be bustling with activity. A couple of months afterward, summer would be here again, and we would be in for nonstop action.
“I sure hope you’re back by then,” I said out loud, thinking of Amy. “I don’t know what I’ll do without your help.”
“What’s wrong with you that you’ve gone to wandering the streets and talking to yourself?” asked a familiar voice from behind me. I turned to see the owner of Granny’s Oven standing just outside the door to Bad Loup Burgers. “Did that beautiful wife of yours come to her senses and leave you? Is that why you’re so lost?”
I laughed. “Hey, Granny, what’s up?”
She smiled and her face lit up. She stepped forward and gave me a hug. She smelled like wedding cake frosting and my mouth watered.
“Do you have any brownies left?” I asked wistfully.
“You know those things fly out the store as soon as I get a batch done.” The wind picked up a little, and she gave her gray hair a pat. “I’ll put a whole tray aside for you the next time I bake some.”
“I heard you might be selling your bakery,” I said conversationally. “I know someone who might be interested.”
“Yeah, Tiffany Edwards,” she said with a nod. “I know her mom. I knew her dad. I remember Tiffany when she was a little girl. I think it’ll all work out for her. She’s going through the banks right now, trying to get the loan. You know how that can be. They want to know that if you do have children, they’ll be able to take them from you and sell them if you don’t pay the mortgage.”
I laughed, but stopped when the wrinkles on her brow deepened.
“Is it true about Carol?” she asked in a low voice. “Did they find her dead?”
I frowned and nodded. “We can’t find Ty.”
“Did you look in the woods behind Orange Way? A few weeks ago Carol came in the bakery and she told me that Ty has a camp back there. It’s nothing more than a sleeping bag and a fire pit, but she said he’s been spending a lot of time out there lately.”
I thanked her for the information.
“You don’t think Ty hurt his mom, do you?”
I hesitated. “It would be unlike him to do so, is what I believe.”
“I guarantee you he didn’t hurt his mom. He loved his mom more than anything. He would never lift a finger to her in anger.”
I wanted to tell her that someone had definitely lifted a finger to Mrs. Richardson, and, as of right now, Ty was one of our only possible suspects. I also wanted to tell her that drugs could alter a person’s normal behavior, but I didn’t tell her either of those things. I was still holding out hope that someone other than Ty had been in that shed and had locked the door on the way out. If not, and if that print belonged to him, then the suspicion would fall squarely on his shoulders.
“I’ll check the woods,” I said, lifting my bag of food in salute. “Please let me know if you hear anything else.”
“Oh, I will,” she said. “You can bet that I will.”
CHAPTER 14
I took a few bites of my burger on the drive to Orange Way, but put the rest away when I stopped at the end of the street and exited the vehicle. Some kid was playing in the yard of the last house on the right, and I gave him a nod. He took one look at my gun and fled like I’d pointed it at him.
Laughing, I studied the land before me. A gate blocked the entrance to a dirt road that was overgrown with underbrush. There was a faint path down the middle of the road, and it was obvious the neighborhood kids ignored the No Trespassing signs that were prominently displayed on the wooden posts on either side of the gate.
Movement from my right caught my eye and I turned to see a red-haired woman standing on the front porch of that last house. The young boy was partially hidden behind her and he was peeking at me from between her legs. I could see enough of him to see that his hair was just as bright as his mom’s and he had just as many freckles.
I waved and walked closer. As though the hair and freckles weren’t enough, she and the boy wore matching pajamas. I didn’t want to look at my watch and give them the idea that I was passing judgment, because I wasn’t. I, myself, would like to be sitting home in my pajamas right about now and I didn’t care what time of the day it was. The only problem for me was that I didn’t wear pajamas.
“Do you know who owns the land back here?” I asked when I got closer. I remembered coming to this house yesterday during my canvass of the neighborhood. No one had been home then.
The woman—she couldn’t have been more than twenty-four—wrapped her arms around her chest and shook her head. “No, sir, but my landlord might. Want me to call her?”
“Yeah, I’d appreciate that.”
The woman turned and almost tripped on the little boy.
“Get out of my feet, Blue,” she said. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
The boy lifted an arm to his face to hide it and disappeared inside with his mom. When they returned a few minutes later, the woman was holding a cordless phone.
“Yea
h, he’s right here,” she said into the phone. “Yep, he’s got a badge.” She looked up at me. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Clint Wolf,” I said. “I’m a detective with the Mechant Loup Police Department.”
She relayed the information to whoever was on the other end of the call. After exchanging a few words, she extended the phone. “She wants to talk to you.”
When I got on the phone, the woman on the other end said she was Natalie Conway. I remembered her and she remembered me from a previous case I’d worked south of town.
“Phoebe told me you were asking about the woods behind the street,” she said. “She mentioned it might be involved with the murder that happened at the front of the street yesterday?”
I didn’t correct her. Instead, I told her I needed to know who owned the land so I could ask for permission to search it for Ty Richardson. She said she owned all of the property behind the neighborhood, as well as a few lots with trailers on them along Orange Way that she rented out.
“I don’t have a problem with you searching it,” she said. “The combination to the lock is 3-2-4-9. Help yourself now and any other time you need to go back there. Just do me one favor; if you catch anybody hunting back there, throw them in jail.”
Although she couldn’t see me, I nodded and thanked her. Before I handed the phone back to Phoebe, Natalie told me she didn’t have a problem with Ty being back there.
“He’s a good man,” she said. “I hope everything turns out alright.”
“Me, too,” I said. Once Phoebe had the phone again, I asked for her last name and if she knew Ty.
“Watts,” she said quickly. “I’m Phoebe Watts. Yeah, I know Ty. He comes back here a lot.”
“Do you ever talk to him?”
“Oh, no, sir—never.” She shook her head for emphasis. “I just see him walking back and forth from the woods.”
“Are you afraid of him?” I asked.
“No, not at all. If Blue’s outside when Ty walks by, Ty will usually wave to him and tell him it’s a beautiful day—even when it’s not—but he’s never done anything bad that I know about. I’ve never been afraid of him. It’s just that I’ve never spoken to him.”
I nodded, glanced toward the woods. After a few cold snaps in late December and early January, the leaves on the trees had finally fallen and it was starting to look a little like winter, although it didn’t feel like it today.
“Have you seen anyone suspicious back here?” I asked, turning back to Phoebe. “Or toward the front of the street?”
“No,” she said slowly, apparently searching the deep recesses of her brain. “I don’t remember seeing any strange cars lately. The only visitors I get back here are my parents and my sister-in-law, but—”
“My Daddy visits me sometimes,” Blue said, interrupting his mom. “He’s a big man—bigger than you and his muscles are stronger.”
I smiled. “I’m sure he is, buddy.”
“I’m sorry about that,” Phoebe said, sliding a hand over Blue’s mouth. Her face flushed bright red with embarrassment. “His dad and I are divorced.”
“No, it’s okay.” I shot a thumb toward the dirt road leading through the woods. “When’s the last time you saw Ty go into the woods?”
She scowled. “Oh, it was probably last week sometime. Maybe Wednesday?”
I fished out a business card and leaned up to hand it to her. “If you hear anything or see Ty, can you please call the police department right away? He’s missing and he’s a person of interest regarding the death of his mom. We’re not calling this a murder—we just need to talk to him. For all we know, he might be a victim, too.”
She looked down at the card and then up at me. Nodding, she promised she’d call if she saw anything.
I thanked her and smiled at Blue. He didn’t return the smile, so I turned to walk away.
“My daddy can beat you up!” Blue called after me, his voice as menacing as he could muster.
I smiled to myself and kept walking.
CHAPTER 15
I called Headquarters over my police radio and let Lindsey know I would be searching the woods behind Orange Way.
“I’m Code Four and don’t expect any trouble,” I said, not wanting Regan to feel the need to stop what she was doing and come assist me. I also didn’t want Susan to hear the traffic and think I was hot on Ty’s trail. If she thought that, she would come running.
“Oh, Ty’s picture hit the newspaper today,” Lindsey said. “Maybe that’ll help find him.”
“I sure hope so!”
I pulled my Tahoe right up to the gate and swapped my combat-style boots for waders. Just because it hadn’t stormed in a few days, it didn’t mean I wouldn’t encounter water along the way. After all, this was southeast Louisiana, and we were basically one giant flotteur sitting on a bed of water.
After silencing my phone and radio, I slipped through the bars of the gate and began trudging down the grassy road. I stayed to one side of the faint trail at all times, so as not to destroy any tracks or other sign that might be present. My stomach grumbled along the way and I was starting to regret not eating the rest of my hamburger. Sure, it would still be there when I returned, but I could’ve used the extra fuel.
I must’ve walked a mile when I saw a break in the tall grass in front of me. It veered off toward the right into the trees, and—still staying to one side—I followed it into the forest. I was in deep shade now.
Since the sun’s rays didn’t reach the forest floor in this area, the ground was damper here and I left tracks in the soft mud. Not only did I leave tracks, but whoever had come here last had also left tracks, and I was able to follow them with ease.
The tracks snaked through the trees, sometimes in a straight line and sometimes veering off in one direction or the other, but I finally found the destination of the one who had left the shoe impressions behind.
Up ahead, about a hundred yards from me, stood a small clearing near a giant oak tree. Tied to one of the branches was a rope swing. A makeshift tent was located a few yards from the swing. I couldn’t see inside the tent, so I called out before I approached.
“Hello the tent,” I said loudly, my voice echoing through the trees. “This is Detective Clint.”
Nothing.
In addition to calling me Detective Clint, Ty also referred to me as sheriff sometimes, so I tried that name.
“Hey, Ty, this is the sheriff.” I waited for a second. “I need to talk to you, buddy.”
I waited for a long minute, but there was no movement from inside the tent. Suddenly, a feeling of foreboding swept over me. What if Ty wasn’t answering because he couldn’t? What if he had killed himself inside that tent?
I began stepping with real purpose. I set off through the trees—making a wide arc around the camp—and approached the tent from the west. The tent was nothing more than a large drop cloth draped over some branches, and the flap was a beach towel bearing the picture of a cartoon character I didn’t recognize. Through an opening in the flap, I had a partial view of the inside of the tent. It looked as cluttered as Ty’s camper.
“Ty?” I called, inching closer to the tent. “Are you in the tent?”
An alligator rumbled from somewhere in the swamps behind me. I paused and glanced over my shoulder to see if it was nearby. It sounded close, but I couldn’t see it, so I ignored the sound.
“Ty, it’s Detective Clint, and I’m here to talk to you.” I kept my hand low, near the handle of my pistol. “Let me know if you’re inside, Ty. I want to come inside and talk to you.”
The towel flapping in the cool wind and birds chirping overhead were the only other sounds I heard at that moment. I continued stepping closer and closer and was finally within reach of the towel. Without speaking again, I reached forward and jerked the towel free from the opening of the tent. I let out a long sigh. It was empty.
“Shit!” I mumbled, stepping fully into the tent to have a look around. Empty cans of beans were
scattered on the ground. A rumpled blanket rested on the ground to one side of the enclosure and a log was positioned as a chair on the opposite side. I pulled back the blanket and found a small stack of nudie magazines hidden there. I immediately dropped the blanket and wiped my hand on my slacks, wondering what kind of germs might be on the fabric.
“So this is why you’re coming to the woods, huh?” I noticed that the magazine on top of the stack was a Playboy dated thirty years earlier. I chuckled. “You must’ve found your dad’s stash.”
Leaving everything exactly as I’d found it—with the exception of the blanket that I dared not touch again—I made my way back to my Tahoe. Blue was running around his yard shooting imaginary bad guys when I drove away. He looked up and I waved, but he only scowled and crossed his arms in front of his chest.
I drove to Mrs. Richardson’s house and checked the camper and the shed again, but Ty wasn’t home. I strolled back to the front of the driveway scratching my head. If he wasn’t in the woods or back at his house, then where in the hell could he be?
I got on the radio and called out that I was back in service. Taking another bite of my now-cold hamburger, I drove to the office and parked beneath the massive, raised building that served as our police department.
Once inside, I greeted Lindsey and walked to the break room. I warmed my burger in the microwave and then carried it through the dispatcher’s station toward my office.
“Call Tracy Dinger,” Lindsey called over her shoulder. “She called like five times. I tried your radio earlier, but you didn’t answer. Once you finally called 10-8, I figured you were heading here anyway, so I didn’t bother telling you over the radio.”
I cursed myself for forgetting to turn the volume back up on my cell phone and radio. “Did she give you a clue as to what she’d found?”
